


Extended Scenes: Ripley and Hicks

by HixChick



Category: Aliens Ripley/Hicks
Genre: Aliens, F/M, Hicks/Ripley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:45:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixChick/pseuds/HixChick
Summary: This ficlet series fills in the gaps/expands what happened on LV-426 between Ellen Ripley and Corporal Hicks. I would like to eventually continue the story beyond the film.





	1. Engaged

**Author's Note:**

> This is my extended take on the “Doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything” scene. Hope you enjoy! Feedback welcome!

“Hey,” Hicks murmured, loudly enough for Ripley to hear but measured so as not to exacerbate the already heightened sense of dread that shrouded them both. 

The flesh beneath her skin slackened in response, affording her a reprieve from the constant fear taking up residence in her exhausted mind. She turned toward the familiar voice, one she had grown quite fond of in the short time since she first heard its gruff yet gentle timbre. She had noticed, during the rare moments of calm, that his eyes held the same qualities. 

“Hey,” she replied as he approached, grateful for the company.

“How you holding up?” he asked, sincere in his concern. 

“I'm ok,” she offered, knowing full well he could tell she was lying. 

The young corporal nodded, having expected her generic answer. Even if she were overwhelmed with panic, he had a hunch that Ripley wasn't the type to advertise it. Still, he'd been through enough shit to know when someone was scared, and he could sense the burgeoning fear in her voice. He hated to add to it, but knew that unwarranted optimism wouldn't do her any favors. 

“Well,” he rasped, edging his way closer to her. “Once we get everything barricaded, we’ve still got to assume they're gonna find their way in. You ready for that?” 

“I'll have to be, won't I?”, she answered, fully aware of their situation; one that could only be described as a clusterfuck of epic proportions. 

Impressed by her composure, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll all have to be.” 

“So what's the latest?” she queried, her face conveying her anxiety over the enormous task at hand. 

“Sentries are almost in place and we're sealing the tunnels,” he stated, confident in his team’s capabilities. “What's the progress here?”

“Burke’s gathering supplies and I was about to cover up this air duct next,” she informed him, pointing at the metal plate in the pile of scraps raided from non-essential equipment. 

With his hands on his hips, Hicks nodded in approval, picturing her back in that yellow power loader, reminded of one of the first times he had witnessed her assured competency. 

“Here,” he said, grabbing the welder from his utility belt, “let me help.” 

“Thanks,” Ripley replied, lifting up the metal sheet and centering it for maximum effect and protection. Hicks double checked both its position and Ripley’s, ensuring her safety from the sparks that would soon shower down. 

They made quick but steady progress of the task, focusing on securing it as completely as possible. As they worked on the last section, Ripley shifted her body, leaning her shoulder slightly against his for more leverage. While the circumstances were far from ideal, given the gravity of their situation, Hicks certainly didn't mind the proximity. After they finished, he extinguished the torch and scanned their handy work. 

“For what it’s worth,” he declared, lightly pounding the wall with his fist for effect. For only a moment, their eyes met each other's in mutual appreciation before he lowered his gaze, remembering why he had sought her out in the first place. He pulled out what appeared to be a watch from his belt, and held it out in front of Ripley. 

“Here, I want you to put this on,” he offered, sighing as his eyes shifted awkwardly between hers and the device in his hand. 

“What’s it for?”, she asked, genuinely having no idea.

“It's a locater,” he explained as he pulled out a small cylinder that matched the band. “Then I can find you anywhere in the complex on this.” 

Ripley briefly examined it before glancing up at him, amused by his apparent reluctance to look back. She found it endearing. 

“It's just a precaution,” he added, trying to pass it off as no big deal. 

She couldn't help but smile.

“Thanks,” she murmured, touched, but not surprised, by his thoughtful gesture. 

He stole a sideways glimpse of her softened expression and quipped, “Doesn't mean we're engaged or anything.” 

She chuckled, appreciative of his sense of humor. Laughter wasn't exactly part of her daily routine, so this brief exchange with him felt practically indulgent. 

Despite not making direct eye contact, he noticed her smile, and decided that it was something he could definitely get used to if they ever got out of this mess. Determined to do just that, he redirected the conversation back to logistics.

“Ok, what's next?” 

“We’ve got two more to seal in here,” she stated, nodding in the general direction of more vents. She took a deep breath before adding, “And someone should check on Gorman.” 

“I'm gonna assume you're not volunteering for that job,” he smirked. 

She countered with a sly grin of her own. “Maybe we should get Vasquez to do it.”

Hicks laughed, shaking his head, likewise enjoying the brief respite this relatively playful conversation afforded them. “I’d have no problem with it, but Gorman might. Speaking of,” he mumbled before adjusting his mic. “Vasquez, what's your status? You up and running?” 

As they awaited word on the sentries, Ripley nervously fiddled with her new tracking band, trying to decide if it brought her a sense of comfort or doom. Sensing the corporal’s eyes on her once again, she decided to fight the urge to succumb to the latter. For reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, she trusted him, more so than she had anyone in a long time. He not only seemed to give a shit about the survival of everyone remaining, but he exuded a quiet, almost infectious confidence that bordered on hope. If nothing else, even if it was a facade, at least she had that. For now, that was enough. 

Hicks nodded, mumbling what Ripley assumed were more orders for his team - their team. Whatever delineation between the military and civilian halves there had been had blurred considerably in the aftermath of their doomed rescue attempt of the colonists. 

“Meet me back in operations,” he told Hudson and Vasquez. Then he turned back to Ripley. “Now we wait.”

“You think they’ll work?” she asked, banking on his optimism for good measure. 

“Hopefully they won’t have to,” he assured her. “But unless they jam up or shoot off prematurely, they should do the trick.” 

“Is that usually a problem, Corporal?” she teased, grateful for his unwitting invitation to carry on with their flirting just a little while longer. He was game. 

“No, ma’am.”


	2. Show Me Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter extends the scene where Hicks is giving Ripley a little tutorial on how to use a pulse rifle. Hope you enjoy. Comments welcome...the good, the bad, and the ugly.

“You started this,” Ripley grinned. “Show me everything. I can handle myself.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

Hicks couldn’t help admitting it. He had noticed. Hell, it was hard not to when she’d proven her competence and intelligence time and again. Ripley had done more than handle herself. Everyone still breathing was doing so thanks to her. 

He moved in close again to reposition her hands- one on the underbarrel of the grenade launcher, and one on the housing of the rifle magazine. 

“This is your grip during grenade firing,” he said. “This is the trigger.” 

Hicks took his role in this impromptu lesson seriously, especially since it could mean the difference between survival and annihilation, but damn if he wasn’t enjoying this. 

“Alright. Now hold this up,” he said, guiding her hands once more. “This magazine holds four rounds. You have to hand-load the grenades, which are then loaded into the breech, and then prime them to fire with the pump action.”

Linking the verbal with the tactile, Ripley absorbed every detail, surprised by how comfortable she felt with both this device built for destruction and the marine training her to use it.  
His instructions were simple but notably devoid of condescension. He was a good teacher - knowledgeable, patient, and thoughtful- and despite his reluctance, or perhaps because of it, an even better leader. 

“Now you try it.” 

“Like this?” she asked. 

“Good, but make sure to adjust your stance,” the corporal instructed, squaring Ripley’s hips slightly to give her more leverage. “If you’re not set, this thing could take you for a ride.” 

Ripley smiled to herself, unsure if this latest round of wordplay was intentional or not. Either way, she found his subtle attempt at flirting a disarming and effective diversion. 

Hicks, sensing that his hands had lingered on her waist a split second too long, took a step back to assess her posture. He had to hand it to her. She’d make a kick-ass marine.

“Alright. It looks likes you’re ready to go,” he said, regretting the fact that he had, indeed, shown her everything. She unloaded and reloaded the clip one last time for good measure.

“You sure there isn’t anything else I should know?” Ripley asked, as if reading his mind. Perhaps she was. He wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Nothing you wouldn’t have picked up in basic marksmanship training,” he replied. “But I had a feeling you’d be a natural. Don’t know how I got that idea.” 

He locked eyes with her and smiled, finding it difficult to mask his regard for her skill and resourcefulness, and perhaps a few other attributes. 

“It helps having a good drill instructor on my side,” she offered, returning the smile. “Especially when time isn’t.”

_Time._

_Fuck._

Hicks sighed. Ripley followed suit, regretting that last thought as soon as she said it. Between the pings of alarms, sensors, and motion trackers forecasting what was, in all likelihood, their imminent death, the last thing they needed was another reminder. 

_We’re running out of time._

It wasn’t as if they weren’t attuned to the severity or urgency of their situation. They’d all been functioning on adrenaline and fear since they touched ground, both increasing exponentially with each minute. But this brief interlude had been a respite, even if the bulk of it was spent prepping for battle. 

_There’s no time for this._

And yet Hicks couldn’t think of a better way to spend it. Ripley had proven herself more than once to be as quick and competent as any soldier he’d fought alongside with, and she could certainly navigate her way through a problem, but she was human. Exhausted, anxious, and scared as they all were, he could only imagine how much more intense those feelings were without a weapon to hide behind. Peace of mind through superior firepower. The least he could do was offer her that. 

“You should get some sleep,” he urged, breaking the momentary silence that had filled the room. 

“I’m not sure I’d be able to at this point,” she noted, more to herself than him. He was right, she knew, but if these were indeed their last few hours, she’d prefer not to accelerate her journey to eternal sleep. 

“When we get out of here, we’re gonna need everyone at the top of their game. Even just an hour will do you good.” 

“ _When_ we get out of here?” she mused. “I admire your optimism, soldier.” 

“Optimism. Stupidity. Take your pick,” he quipped, hoping to ease the tension.

“Maybe a little bit of both?” she joked, playing along with his inaccurate assessment of himself. 

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. 

“And what about you?”she asked, wondering how he’d also managed to keep a cool head when everyone else seemed to be losing it. “That short catnap on the drop ship did the trick?” 

“Nah,” he shrugged. “That was more of a defensive maneuver.” 

“Against?” she inquired curiously. 

“Hudson’s mouth.” 

Ripley laughed, then nodded in understanding. 

“I’ll have to remember that for the ride home.” 

“Now who’s being optimistic?” teased Hicks, his playful smile temporarily masking his exhaustion and concern. 

“Hicks. You copy?” crackled a voice through his headset. 

The energy immediately shifted again. Ripley studied his face and marveled at the speed with which his brow furrowed over eyes once again focused on survival. She was certain her face had mimicked his. 

“Bishop,” he responded. “What’s your status?” 

“Out of the tunnel. Almost to the tower. It’ll take me awhile to patch in.” 

“Ok. We’re holding tight here. Keep me posted.” 

“Roger.” 

“Bishop,” Hicks added. “Good luck.” 

Hicks checked the video monitors, assessing everyone’s whereabouts. Now that he’d heard from Bishop, he figured it’d be good to gauge where everyone else’s head was at. Hudson, for one, was barely holding it together. 

“I’m gonna go check on Newt,” Ripley said, gesturing toward medical. “Maybe take your advice and try to get a little sleep.”

“You should,” Hicks replied, his tone gentle and supportive. 

“Thanks for the lesson,” she nodded.

“Anytime.” 

Ripley repositioned the pulse rifle, gripping it with a confidence she lacked mere minutes ago. It felt comforting, familiar even, like the stack of books she used to carry around as a child. 

Almost at the door, she turned when Hicks called out to her. His expression reclaimed its usual warmth, but his eyes struggled to hide his unease.

“Whatever happens,” he paused, swallowing audibly. “I got your back.” 

Ripley held his gaze. Coming from someone like Burke or Gorman that statement would have reeked of arrogance, a trait she was certain Hicks lacked. From him, all she heard was the refreshing beat of sincerity, with perhaps a dash of admiration strewn in. She trusted he’d detect the same from her. 

“Yeah, I noticed.”


End file.
